October 16: Time for the latest new experience in a month ripe with such adventures. First there was a Prescott hillclimb, next comes Korea. Betwixt times, in the Japanese Grand Prix's immediate slipstream, I hit the road at 4.30am and drive to Oulton Park to make my debut as a circuit commentator. In essence it shouldn't be too far removed from the day job: words, written or spoken, are still just words.

It doesn't feel too bad when co-commentator Richard Sproston, a microphone veteran, is babbling away and requires me just to fill in a few blanks, but my mind swiftly empties when he wanders away to conduct pit interviews and leaves me trying to find things to say about the VW Fun Cup - a category I have never previously encountered and whose race lasts precisely four hours. Without the safety nets of delete, copy or Ctrl-Z, it feels a lot more taxing than many make it sound.

October 20: Arrive in Dubai for the fifth consecutive Tuesday and hook up with Mark - Tony has opted to skip this one, due to perceptions of potential hassle and a clash with the half-term holidays. We plot a railway route from Seoul to Mokpo and establish that Yongsan station is the most suitable starting point. JapanVisitor.com describes it thus: "As well as Yongsan electronics market, with its hundreds of cut-price electronics shops selling every conceivable appliance and gadget, the area is known for its excellent street stalls and a small red-light district, with girls offering sexual services from glass boxes in front of small, motel-style rooms. Foreign clients are not accepted and photography is unwelcome."

The flight to Seoul heralds my first trip in one of Emirates' fresh fleet of twin-deck Airbus A380s, the sky's approximate equivalent of a Routemaster bus, although it's a touch faster and much quieter: a remarkably graceful lummox, then.

In theory we need media visas to enter Korea, but as there was no time to obtain one almost every journalist has a few fibs prepared. No questions are asked at immigration, though. Mark's paperwork suggests he's a car dealer while I list my occupation as "translator" (perfectly true, but obviously not the whole story).

During the subsequent train trip I happen upon Alex Snell, a 31-year-old F1 fan from Ipswich who saved up for years and is fulfilling a boyhood dream by attending every one of this year's races. He couldn't have chosen a better season, really. He's relishing every second and dreading his return to the real world, which is now but three races away. During the weekend's course he will land a job as Virgin Racing's official Tweeter, which earns him a weekend-long paddock pass. Korea feels like paradise, apparently.

The trip to Mokpo incorporates 50 minutes on a coach and three and a bit hours on a train. Ordinarily, the region is apparently a tourist-free zone, although the grand prix – in nearby Yeongam – is one of the first stages in a programme for cultural change. Our hotel has most things we need (running water, separate beds, internet access) and quite a few we don’t (grooming products, mirrored walls, double shower cubicle). Contrary to much of the misinformation that was disseminated pre-race, these are not brothels but “love hotels”, which usually turn a profit by renting rooms on an hourly basis. Typical clients include businessmen with a clandestine mistress or, possibly, a hooker on each arm. For now, though, they are most of the F1 community’s temporary home.

Mokpo embraces the invasion - restaurant menus incorporate meal titles in English, hurriedly scribbled in ballpoint - and has a consequently vibrant atmosphere. Virgin F1 team principal John Booth is one of the chosen few with a room at a conventional luxury hotel, just outside town, but during the evenings he opts to catch a cab to where most ordinary mortals are staying, because it's more fun.

October 21: While waiting in vain for a shuttle at what turns out to be a non-existent bus stop, several of us are approached by a local who starts shouting in Korean and beckoning us to follow. The only words he knows, however, are "How much? How much?" We've no idea what he's trying to sell, where he's trying to lead us or why, but the more we ignore him the greater his agitation becomes. During the middle of his rant we establish the shuttle stop location - in the opposite direction to the one he wants us to go - and he's still shouting as we wander away. No idea what that was about.

The new circuit is exceptionally busy for a Thursday, largely because the Korean Army is still screwing grandstands together and trying to make the infrastructure as usable as possible. Mark and I walk the 3.5-mile track during the late morning, during the course of which soldiers pause from their seat installation duties to wave cheerfully at passers-by.

In the braking area for Turn 14 we find an unanticipated feature: a snake. I edge quite close to take a few snaps - possibly not the most intelligent approach. One of the many Australian marshals later tells me "a few small pythons" have been found around the infield, although an informed friend reckons it was "probably" little more than a rat snake and, therefore, of little danger to anything bigger than a long-wheelbase hamster. If anybody can enlighten me (there's a picture in this photo gallery), please do.

October 22: Formula One cars baptise the new track at 10am. Conditions are dusty and slippery, which excuses the odd error of judgment, but it soon becomes apparent that the circuit is an instant classic. The first sector is reminiscent of Monza, the second Silverstone and the third Monaco - and the drivers relish its challenging diversity.

Turn 16 is particularly spectacular. The inside kerb is slightly lower than the track and many cars send up showers of sparks as they bottom out on the way through, right front wheel compressed firmly into the surface and left front pawing the air. The landscape might be a little barren for now, but the long-term plan is to build a new community in the immediate vicinity. At present it's an urban circuit without a city.

October 23: The track is subjected to a few overnight tweaks - predictable, really, given that it was certificated for use only nine days before the first event, rather than the customary 90 - and the Turn 16 kerb has, disappointingly, been levelled. This was supposed to slow the cars a little, but if anything they pass through even more quickly and the spectacle is little diluted: a quick corner with precious little run-off area is always a pleasing cocktail.

Sebastian Vettel pips world championship-leading team-mate Mark Webber to pole position by one tenth of a second and the Australian knows he'll be in for a difficult Sunday. Ordinarily, the difference between the clean and dirty sides of a circuit equates to extra purchase that's worth about eight metres at the start, but here it's so dirty off the racing line that the figure is closer to 20.

The frequently disappointing Mercedes looks in decent shape - particularly in Nico Rosberg's hands. The team recently stopped developing this year's car, to focus on 2011, and the chance to work with a stable platform, rather than constantly trying to fine-tune new parts, is paying dividends. "There might be a lesson in that," says team principal Ross Brawn.

Mokpo has a usefully diverse selection of restaurants. The local Italian is acceptable - you'd probably be disappointed to receive pizza of this calibre at Monza, but in the overall scheme of things it's fine - but tonight we settle for a diner that claims to be Oriental, although in this instance the menu extends to pizza, pasta and pretty much everything else. The service is engagingly erratic - most of us have finished our main courses by the time Mark's starter arrives - but the repast is tasty and reasonably priced. This is becoming a better event by the day.

October 24: The anticipated rain duly materialises, but teams' weather forecasts vary wildly: some expect it to remain wet all day, but others insist conditions will improve before the 3pm start. The only support race - a one-make affair for Hyundais - offers a flavour of what lies ahead. The Safety Car is dispatched after a couple of cars tangle at the second corner - and with no trackside cranes to retrieve them, the Korea International Circuit's first ever race is neutralised for almost its entire distance.

For most of the morning the region is bathed in drizzle, enough to leave a fair amount of standing water. Long before the scheduled start, the three-lane highway leading to the circuit is gridlocked, largely because the designated car parks are virtual swamps. Many new grands prix attract only a trickle of spectators, but this one has generated appropriately rabid enthusiasm and 80,000 people turn up to sit in freshly built grandstands, most of which have no cover of any kind.

Rain intensifies during the early afternoon and the adverse weather delays the start by 10 minutes. Even then, only three laps are possible, all behind the Safety Car, before the red flag is shown. Fernando Alonso describes the conditions as the worst he's ever experienced and 49 minutes elapse before the race resumes, again behind the Safety Car.

It's quite funny listening to the radio messages between teams and drivers: most are cautious about the conditions, but Lewis Hamilton is desperate to start racing several minutes before the cars are unleashed. He then immediately loses a position to Rosberg's Mercedes, which for once really does look like a Silver Arrow. Mercedes was the only team to soften its cars' suspension during the rain stoppage and it looks like the correct call… until Rosberg harpoons Webber's spinning Red Bull after only a couple of racing laps. Cue another Safety Car interruption.

Vettel has the race under control until a detonating Renault V8 brings him to a smoky halt, gifting victory and the championship lead to Alonso - the first time the Spaniard has topped the standings since April. During the summer, when he was almost 50 points behind in the title race, Alonso remained adamant that it was still winnable and three wins from four starts reinforce the point. Having made very few mistakes this year, Webber has just picked a spectacularly bad moment to blot his copybook.

Ironically, given that they considered the circuit too wet at the start, the officials have no qualms about letting the drivers race on into the extreme gloom. The light has almost gone by the time Alonso crosses the finishing line and the podium ceremony takes place under cover of darkness. The sport's capacity for unforeseen drama persists.

Mark and I had been determined to finish our work early, but the assorted delays make that impossible. And there's no point leaving the circuit anyway, because all surrounding roads are gummed. We feast on spaghetti pomodoro in the media café and plough on until there's a suitable lift to be cadged, by which stage it's almost midnight.

October 25: Stop writing at 2am and rise again at 6.30 to complete the task. Three hours later Mokpo is all but deserted as we scour the streets for a suitable coffee emporium - the whirlwind has moved on, leaving only a handful of stragglers. We catch an afternoon train to Seoul and alight at a metro stop whose name is similar to the one we need, but we're snared by the subtle shift of a few letters. After spending half an hour searching for a non-existent hotel, we realise the error of our ways and move on - although the hotel becomes no easier to find.

The South Koreans have been a paragon of patient help ever since our arrival - a trademark that is both refreshing and constant. When we ask one lady for directions, she calls the hotel for us and then volunteers to walk us there, even though it's 15 minutes away and her friend is waiting in an adjacent coffee shop. We settle for some spoken directions and eventually reach our target.

It hasn't been a particularly promising start to our one night in Seoul - it was £180 cheaper to fly home on Tuesday and the supplementary hotel bill comes to only £20 each - but it turns out to be one of the season's best evenings. The International Herald Tribune's F1 correspondent Brad Spurgeon is one of three performers booked to play a few songs in Tony's Bar - a small, intimate venue with space for about 20 - and we are treated to an evening of great, spontaneous musicality among even better company. For all the crap we sometimes have to endure, this planet can be a wonderful, uplifting place.

October 26: What to do with a spare day in Seoul? We find a coffee bar with free internet access and settle down to a morning of writing accompanied by a cream cheese pretzel and several cappuccinos. We subsequently take a late lunch and amble towards the station, thence the airport, where our on-line boarding passes are not accepted. Check-in doesn't open for another hour, so we have little option but to bolster the coffee trade's profits yet further.

Before boarding I receive a phone call from home. Mum has been taken ill and is on her way to hospital for tests. I've cashed in a few air miles to sit upstairs on an A380, but the next nine and a half hours are not as comfortable as they should be. This has nothing to do with the aircraft's sumptuous facilities: it's steeped in my own sense of helplessness.

October 27: Upon reaching Dubai I receive one of my dad's amusingly fumbled text messages: mum remains hospitalised, but has perked up - a promising start to the day.

I seem to be coping with the constant recent flits between Europe and Asia, but have no idea how I might feel after the stupidly scheduled back-to-back races in Brazil and Abu Dhabi, a tour that begins one week hence. Bernie Ecclestone remains determined to add more races to the annual schedule, with India imminent, America returning in 2012 and Russia joining in 2014, but I can think of a few I'd cheerfully cull.

South Korea isn't among them, though. It has the potential to be one of the season's finest events.